


Choices Made

by pissedoffeskimo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 10:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1547006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pissedoffeskimo/pseuds/pissedoffeskimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry made his choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices Made

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2005. I have not extensively edited since then. I apologize.

Harry had not returned to Hogwarts his seventh year. Even if there had been a Hogwarts to return to, he would have chosen to come continue his battle against Voldemort. As it was, Hogwarts was one professor and Headmaster short of a full staff. McGonagall had sent letters to the students and their parents, saying that the school would not be closing and that any student who wished to return, may. However, it wasn’t a matter of teaching anymore, it was a matter of protection and Harry doubted that anyone saw it as anything else.

The students that chose to return were daughters and sons of Aurors and members of the Order, in other words, students whose parents couldn’t protect them on their own. The few times that Harry had come to Hogwarts to seek advice from McGonagall, the halls had been eerily empty.

Of course, the eerie effect of the empty school was nothing compared to what had happened at Grimmauld Place. Harry would have much preferred the quiet unease to the liveliness now consuming his late godfather’s home. According the Remus, Draco and Narcissa Malfoy had shown up on the doorstep one evening shortly after Dumbledore fell, seeking sanctuary. Harry hadn’t been there, but Remus had fire-called him and Harry had confirmed their story. Dumbledore had offered Draco amnesty and a safe hiding place. Of course, there was the matter of how they had found the place, but neither was talking and Harry was too concerned with finding the Horcrux’ to really care.

A week after the two of them had started staying there, Harry had come for a meeting and had been floored by the vast difference. Narcissa had taken it upon herself to clean the place, apparently saying that she refused to live in filth and that the ancestral home of the Black family deserved to be kept in better condition. She hadn’t finished everything, by any means, but the entryway sparkled. Flowers sat on a table near the door, the paintings had been thoroughly refurbished to the best of Lady Malfoy’s ability and even the portrait of Sirius’ mother, though still covered in a thick white sheet, had stopped shrieking at every sound. Harry could only assume that she was content to have someone of good breeding in the household.

Having someone live there full time made it feel like a home and Harry had felt uncomfortable there and out of place. Narcissa had not taunted him, though she hadn’t said much of anything, in general, but for some reason Harry had expected the place to rot and mold without Sirius there and instead it was flourishing under the hand of a cousin he had despised.

Harry had yet to see Draco, the other boy had the ability to disappear the moment Harry or any of his friends crossed the threshold, but that was fine with Harry, who didn’t want to see Draco either. If he did, it might remind him of the night Dumbledore died and Harry had too much to do to spend time grieving.

For the most part Hermione, Ron and he spent their time at Godric’s hollow, hunting down the Horcux’ and devising protection spells. One such spell had been an ingenious charm that Hermione had called Ludonex. The charm had to be placed on an object, Hermione had chosen a stone called cornelian, because she said it was reported to protect against evil, and as long the object was in Harry’s possession, anyone who tried to kill him would feel the effects of the attempt themselves. To ensure that the stone could not be taken from him, should he be captured, she had enlisted her parent’s help and they had sealed a very small amount of it into one of his teeth. It wouldn’t kill an attacker, but they hoped it would confuse him or her long enough for Harry to get away or come up with a plan.

One by one, they had hunted down the Horcrux’. Dumbledore had already destroyed Slytherin’s ring and Harry had destroyed the diary. Slytherin’s locket had still been missing, but eventually they had located it… at Grimmauld Place in Regulus Black’s old bedroom.

For several weeks they had been pouring through texts, looking for anyone with the initials RAB and then hunting them down to discover if they were the mysterious procurer of the locket. They’d been working on it for several weeks and had eventually gone to Grimmauld Place to give Remus an update and hopefully see if he had any advice for them. Mid-sentence Narcissa’s voice had interrupted them, barreling down the stairs as she screamed at nothing in particular (an event which was not entirely uncommon).

In an effort to keep the peace, they had gone to her and found her standing in front of an open wardrobe, a handkerchief pressed over her mouth and nose. It didn’t take long to figure out why. The room had belonged to Sirius bother, Regulus, and inside the cupboard was what had apparently been his secret stash of snacks, now rotted and bug ridden from years of neglect.

Narcissa had rounded on them, “This is disgusting, Mr. Lupin, how can you live with this!”

Remus had gawked, unused to being singled out by a woman who preferred to distance herself from others and speak in hushed tones. “Well, I don’t… I mean, that is to say, we don’t really come in here that often, so I just hadn’t noticed.”

She huffed and walked up to him, throwing the little piece of white clothe to the floor, “Hadn’t noticed? I’ve been smelling it for a month and assumed it was the draperies, you are a werewolf, Mr. Lupin, how could you not have noticed?”

“Well, I mean, it isn’t that bad.”

Which was the wrong thing to say, because she stormed past him, proclaiming, “If it doesn’t bother you, then you can clean it up.”

While the others had been recovering from the outburst, Hermione had suddenly stooped to pick up the fallen handkerchief and suddenly let out a very un-Hermione like squeal, “Lady Narcissa!” 

Harry and Ron followed her out in the hall, where she was frantically waving the disposed of clothe at the woman. Narcissa stopped and looked back scathingly, but Hermione didn’t seem to notice, “Where did you get this?”

Narcissa looked at it with disdain, “That old thing? I found it in that forsaken room.”

“Whose is it?” Hermione was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, completely oblivious to Narcissa’s annoyance.

“It belonged to Sirius’ brother. You can see the initials for yourself, Regulus Aidan Black.”

Harry’s mouth had fallen open. “It couldn’t possibly.”

They really hadn’t thought it would be in the room, but they’d cleaned it out, if only for clues on where he might have hidden it. After several hours of fruitless scouring, they had found the little locket under a false bottom in the bedside table. It was a very muggle means of hiding something, but then perhaps he didn’t assume that mudbloods and the like would be looking for it so many years in the future. 

It had taken some work to destroy it, but Hermione and Ron managed it while Harry searched for the next Horcrux. By now he had noticed that many of the items that they had found were in places connected to Tom Riddle’s childhood and on a whim Harry and Ron had gone to search the orphanage. It was a very old building, the floor boards creaked whenever someone stepped on them, but Harry’s hunch had paid off. Several Dark Magic locator spells later, they held in their hands Godric’s codpiece. Well, Harry held it in his hand; Ron refused to touch it on the off chance that Voldemort might have actually worn it at some point.

That left only one and Voldemort would be mortal, killable and Harry would have his revenge for his parents and his godfather and his fucking life up to that point. He could be normal. He could date Ginny. He could have sex with Ginny. 

So, late one night, while Ron and Hermione were curled up next to each other, asleep in bed, he had slipped out the front door and gone off in search of Nagini. He didn’t have much hope of finding her without Voldemort present, but then it wouldn’t matter. Kill her and Voldemort being on hand would be a matter of convenience.

He did find her alone, which he assumed was part of his most recent in a series of events brought on by good luck. She’d been hunting for food and he’d tracked her for several minutes before striking. What he hadn’t counted on, however, was that someone else had been tracking her, a Death Eater sent to watch over his Master’s pet.

Harry didn’t hear the man approaching, but then he’d been too busy feeling proud of himself for having destroyed what he hoped was the last Horcrux. He only knew that one minute he was smiling down at the limp carcass of a giant snake and the next he was being hit with a Stupefy.

 

____________________

_One month later:_

 

Voldemort leaned in from behind, putting his lipless mouth next to Harry’s ear, whispering just loud enough for Harry to hear him over the roaring of pain in his ears. “Who should I give you too, hm?” The elongated fingers stretched out in front of Harry’s sweat covered, dirty face, indicating the crowd of Death Eaters surrounding them and Harry couldn’t fight back a shiver. “Who can I trust to keep my possession safe?”

The hand touched Harry’s jaw line in an obscene gesture of reverence, before curling into his hair and yanking his head back so that he was staring at the men looking down at him anxiously, expectantly.

Without his glasses it was hard to see, but he somehow managed to make out the blurry outline of a figure with long blond hair, standing a little straighter than the rest, a little more confident. No matter the hate he felt for Voldemort, there was always a special well of anger inside him reserved only for the senior Malfoy, for his arrogant expressions and his haughty tones. The man grated on Harry’s last nerve and something in the way that Malfoy wasn’t even looking at him said that he was so fucking sure. “Not Malfoy.”

Harry had no reason to believe that Voldemort would do as he said. In fact, he was fairly certain, even as he said it, that the Dark Lord would do the opposite, but he couldn’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth. The blonde bastard tensed a little and actually looked at Harry, not through him, and Harry almost smiled, but Voldemort had let go of his hair at that moment and he didn’t have the strength to hold his head up on his own.

Voldemort ran the hand down Harry’s spine and a shiver of pain ran through him. That touch, it was going to drive Harry absolutely mad with pain, which was why they were there. For whatever reason, the Dark Lord wanted him kept alive, but leaving Harry in his care was a death sentence for the boy. Voldemort simply couldn’t keep his hands off his prize and the more time Harry spent in his presence, under his watch, touched by him, the weaker he became and it was only going to be a matter of days before his body and mind gave out.

“Not Lucius. Are you sure, love?”

Harry hated that, too. He hated the sickly sweet sarcasm dripping from Voldemort when he called him pet-names. It made him want to tear off his own skin. “Not Malfoy.”

Voldemort stood and surveyed the remaining members. “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to give you to... Fenrir. I’m putting a great trust in you, I want the boy alive and... moderately coherent when I come for him next. Don’t disappoint me.”

Harry froze, his eyes focused on the floor bellow him. Fuck, he hadn’t known Greyback was an option.

____________________

 

Harry didn’t want to be grateful, he really didn’t, but he just couldn’t bloody well help it. After spending he-didn’t-even-know how long chained by his ankle to Greyback’s bed, he would have been thankful if Voldemort himself had come to take Harry back into service. Greyback’s touch did not put Harry in agony, it didn’t drain him of his strength and make it difficult for him to remember to breathe, but it did other things. Greyback’s mere presence made Harry shake uncontrollably. When he got near and Harry could smell him, it made him nauseous with the overwhelming memories of everything the man had done to him, everything he had said, every place he had touched.

The night he had been handed over, Harry had been weak and not entirely lucid. Voldemort had said goodbye to him the hard way, but despite having been in and out of consciousness, he clearly remembered being laid out on the bed, having his tattered robes stripped from him, a manacle tightened around his ankle, and a nose sniffing him all over, from his toes to his neck, a tongue had lapped at his throat before a voice whispered obscene things about the way he tasted. Things that left no doubt that it was Greyback lying over him.

“You taste delicious, little hero, I can’t wait to sink my teeth into your flesh.” Lick. “I want to rip your skin off.” Lick. “I want to taste your blood in my throat.” Despite those words however, Greyback had yet to actually bite Harry, although he did taste his blood as often as he could. The first time he’d fucked Harry raw, he had licked his arse clean afterwards, moaning hot breath against the tender flesh as he relished in the bitter mix of blood and cum.

That wasn’t even the worst of it. On what he thought of as his second night there, Greyback had brought some of the younger children into the room to give them a lesson in dominance. Harry was used to people watching while he was tortured and raped, but something about the youngest of them, a small girl with wide blue eyes and a bright yellow bunny clutched in her trembling hands while Greyback cut patterns into Harry’s chest, lecturing on how evil wizards were, had broken something in him. 

Worse, was the day he had brought Remus in. Harry had heard Greyback coming, coaxing someone to follow him. “Just through here. Come on, don’t be shy. I know how eager you are to prove yourself.”

Remus had stopped short in the doorway when he’d seen Harry on the bed. He wasn’t covered in blood, because Greyback had licked that off, but a crisscross of cuts and bruises of all color littered his body. “See, little Remus, I told you I had a surprise for you.” Greyback grinned maliciously behind Remus and ran a hand down the other werewolf’s face. “And isn’t this a surprise?”

The color drained from Remus face, and Harry, despite knowing what was coming, couldn’t bring himself to be disgusted. He didn’t move to cover himself. It wouldn’t do any good.

Greyback had leaned in, staring at Harry over Remus shoulder while he spoke, “Isn’t he so pretty, even for a wizard?”

Remus seemed to wake up at this and he turned on Greyback. Harry couldn’t see Remus expression, but Greyback’s was full of humor. They stared at each other for nearly a minute before Remus backed down and started to walk past Greyback to the door. Greyback stopped him. “Now, little Remus, didn’t I say this surprise was for you?”

Remus’ shoulder’s tensed under the strong hands, but he didn’t respond, didn’t look up.

“Go on, have a taste.”

“No.” It was the barest of whispers. Harry had always thought of Remus as strong, if soft hearted, but next to Greyback, he seemed so small and insignificant. Like a child standing next to his father.

Greyback’s smile turned cold and he put a hand under Remus’ chin, lifted his head to look in his eyes. “I’m not asking, little Remus. If you value your life and the life of that little witch of yours, you’ll do as I order.”

He said witch like a curse and Remus flinched. Too much to lose, and if he didn’t wouldn’t Harry get it worse, because Greyback would be very, very angry. In the end, Remus capitulated. He got on the bed and did what Greyback told him to, touched Harry where he was supposed to, licked blood off his chest, and even managed to whisper apologies in Harry’s ear. It was worse than when the children had watched, but better than when Greyback took him, because he could be strong for Remus. For Remus he could bite back the screams and pleas. For Remus, he could close his eyes and pretend that it wasn’t forced, that it wasn’t eating him up inside, at least for a moment.

Greyback didn’t invite Remus again, but he invited others. A twelve-year-old boy who had been so shaken by the mere idea, that he’d wet himself, but had gone through with it anyway. A girl Harry’s own age, who’d been gleeful at the prospect. Harry didn’t even really know how many or how often. He knew that more than once he woke with someone fucking him, or with something sticky between his legs that said he’d been fucked.

So, when he’d opened his eyes to find Lucius Malfoy standing over him, looking at his dirty form in disdain, he’d been entirely unable to suppress a whimper. Not Malfoy, not now. Greyback had only got done with him a half hour ago and his skin was crawling. Lucius had touched Harry’s matted hair with a gloved hand and then rubbed the dirty fingers together, examining the grime. “This is what you call taking care of Voldemort’s possession, Fenrir?”

Greyback had stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “I can do with him as I like, so long as he doesn’t die.”

“Or get rescued.” Lucius wiped his glove on the comforter. “The way you pass him around, you might as well be advertising his whereabouts.” 

“He won’t be found, Lucius. I assure you that I am very discreet in who I “pass him around” to.”

“Obviously the Dark Lord does not agree with you, or I wouldn’t be here.” Lucius didn’t lean down, but he caught Harry’s unfocussed eyes and held the gaze, “What do you say, Harry. Should I take you with me?”

“Please.” The words were out before he could stop himself, but he didn’t regret them. He couldn’t stay here. He didn’t mind dying, he didn’t mind rape, but the mind games were too much. He was breaking slowly, more every day.

Lucius smirked, “What was that, Harry?”

“Please?” Harry didn’t have the energy to feel ashamed with himself. He’d do it later, when he wasn’t being buggered by werewolves every other hour.

Lucius took off his cloak and swept it over Harry in a gesture that said the boy was his and Harry shouldn’t have been grateful, but he was. At least for now.

 

____________________

When Harry woke up next, he thought he was dreaming, but it was a nice dream, so he didn’t try to wake himself up. He was lying in a soft bed and there was light fluttering against his eyelids and a breeze that smelled like grass tickled his nose. With a hefty groan, Harry clutched at the soft, voluptuous blankets and curled in on himself.

“Awake at last?”

At the sound of Malfoy’s voice, Harry’s eyes shot open in surprise. He let out a cry of pain as the light blinded him and put his head under the blanket. It couldn’t be a dream, then, because he’d never hurt this much in dreams. Slowly the covers were drawn back and Harry put his hands over his eyes protectively, expecting them to be yanked away. They weren’t. Instead, large, soft hands helped him to sit up and a glass was pressed gently to his lips. Harry moved his hands cautiously, just enough to see the glass of water in front of him.

Maybe it was a dream after all, but he suddenly didn’t care. It was water. Greyback had only given him enough food and drink to keep him alive. Grabbing the glass, he drank it in large gulps, barely refraining himself from licking the glass when it was empty. Malfoy’s chuckle rang in his ears and he looked over, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Now, now, you’ll need to take it slowly, or you’ll make yourself sick.”

With a flick of his wand, the glass refilled itself and Harry inhaled half of it before stopping himself, because his stomach was protesting largely at the sudden fullness. Breathing deeply, he clutched the glass, afraid it would be taken away at any moment. Malfoy didn’t move to take it, if anything, he seemed to settle into the bed a little more. “You’re still unwell, of course, and very weak. It’ll be a good two or three days before you can be permitted out of bed, but I’m sure we can think of something for you to do until then, yes?”

Harry didn’t want to think about what they could do, because the way Malfoy was looking at him told him exactly what they were going to do, regardless of what he thought. With a smile that was anything but reassuring, Malfoy stood up and pet Harry’s head, ignoring the frightened flinch. “Drink and get some more rest. I’ll be back in half an hour with lunch, perhaps tomato bisque.”

It wasn’t a question, but it was said with a raised eyebrow, and Harry found himself nodding, too afraid of what would happen if he didn’t respond. As soon as Malfoy had closed the door, however, Harry put his glass down and began looking around the room. He had no idea what game the man was playing at, but it was an elaborate one. Then again, was there any other sort for a Malfoy?

The room was opulent, with a high ceiling and a large chandelier hanging from it. The walls were a creamy, off-white and the bed he was in was made up with pale blue blankets and crisp white linens. Pushing the covers off, Harry suddenly realised that he was no longer naked, as he had been when he’d lost consciousness (or been cursed or drugged, or some other variation thereof). He was wearing a long black night shirt that covered him quite modestly and it was soft cotton, so soft that it made his bruised skin practically sing.

There were two large windows against one wall, both of which were open wide to allow the afternoon breeze to blow through the room. With a determined grunt, Harry moved his stiff legs over the side of the bed and fell on his face on the ornate rug covering the wood floor. Damn, his legs were asleep. He moved onto his back and then touched one tentatively. Hell, they weren’t just asleep, they were dead.

After several minutes of rubbing them furiously, the tingling started to build painfully and he gave a relieved sigh. The last thing he needed was to be crippled on top of everything else. Gripping pieces of furniture for support, he stumbled to the open window and stuck his hand through it. Well, tried to stick his hand through it. His fingers pressed against a magical barrier that might as well have been a brick wall and he fell to floor next to the divan, fighting tears.

He wouldn’t cry, he wouldn’t; not when Malfoy could walk in at any moment and see him. But he was. He couldn’t stop the steady flow of tears and eventually gave in to the sobs forcing their way out of his chest. It seemed like such a petty thing to cry over. It was just a window. He’d been raped, beaten, tortured, starved, and yes he’d cried during most of the rapes, and under Cruciatus, but wasn’t that expected? It had never been like this, though.

His chest ached and he felt humiliated. He didn’t know how long it had been since he’d even seen a window, but he knew that it was a long time. The cell he’d been kept in didn’t have one, not even a small one out of his reach. Greyback’s room had felt like it was in the back of a cave, with raged stone walls and certainly no natural light. Right now he could smell the outside, he could feel the sun...

The door opened just another sob racked Harry’s body. He tried to bury himself further into the carpet, ashamed, but a pair of hands gently lifted his face up and pulled his hands away. Harry refused to open his eyes as a finger traced the tears down his check. “Why ever are you crying? Does something displease you?”

It was a game. A stupid game and Harry felt his sadness quickly being displaced by anger. Growling in frustration, Harry launched himself at Malfoy, trying to hit him, bite him, hurt him, but Malfoy deflected him easily and Harry quickly found himself on the floor, his hands pinned beside his head and the man sitting on top of him.

The blonde man frowned down at him. “Now, Harry, what brought this on?”

“Stop it!” He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take the mock concern written all over those aristocratic features, like he actually gave a damn. “Stop playing with me. If you’re going to rape me, then do it. If you’re going to torture me, go ahead, but I won’t play your stupid games!”

The concern faltered for only a moment, but before Harry could identify what expression he had let slip, it was gone, replaced by a placating smile that Harry associated with the way his Aunt Petunia had looked at Dudley when he was throwing a temper tantrum. “Would you rather I sent you back?” A pause. “To either of them?”

Harry’s heart stopped and he gaped, “N... no.”

Malfoy let go of him and Harry forced himself to stay still, suddenly acutely aware that for the first time in recent memory, he was clean, in very little pain, considering, and decidedly not thirsty. His stomach growled, reminding him that was still very hungry, though. Malfoy leaned down and, before Harry could argue or move away, scooped him up in his arms and deposited him on the bed, sitting next to him. “This is far more than a simple game, Harry. I have no intentions of torturing you as my master or that ill-bred werewolf did. As for the issue of rape: eventually, but I’d rather have you strong and willing, not barely able to stand and in hysterics.” Harry couldn’t breathe. Had he said willing?! He couldn’t possibly believe that Harry would ever be willing for it. “Now, I believe I promised you tomato bisque.”

As if responding to his voice, two trays appeared, both laden with large bowls of sweet smelling soup and glasses of warm tea. Malfoy took his tray and set it on his lap, waiting for Harry to do the same. Nervously, Harry reach out and took it, picking it out of the air with shaking hands and carefully setting on top of his outstretched thighs.

It was a wonderful soup, though he got down less than half of it before his stomach began to protest the sudden fullness. After the trays had vanished, Malfoy made Harry lie down among the large pillows and smothering quilt, insisting that he needed his rest. Even if he had wanted to protest, he was suddenly very tired and as much as he wished he could say that the food had been drugged, he knew that it was simple exhaustion.

When the door had closed behind Malfoy, Harry looked longingly at the window again, but he was clean and tired and full and he could literally say that he wouldn’t have been able to move to save his own life.

 

____________________

 

Over the next week, Harry became increasingly confused. Despite his proclamation that first day, Malfoy, or Lucius as he insisted Harry call him, had not made a single advance towards him, other than remarking how thin he was once or twice a day. Not only had he not made advances, but he had been very insistent that Harry be kept clothed, fed, and bathed at all times. The house elves helped him in the bath and though Lucius had been present on each occasion, he had not looked overly long nor hard at Harry’s naked figure, and he had not moved to help or touch him.

Lucius still insisted on soups, saying that Harry’s palate would be overly sensitive to solid food after having been starved for so long. Harry simply refused to ask how long it had been since his capture, he didn’t want to know. That morning Harry had eaten a small bowl of gazpacho soup and been surprised to find a slice of toast on the tray. With a warming smile, Lucius nodded, “We’re going to try your hand at something solid and see how you cope. If we’re lucky, you’ll be eating real food soon.”

He had to remind himself that it was all nothing more than a game, a manipulation. What Lucius wanted, Harry couldn’t be sure, but he had to want something and he must think that this (whatever this was) was the best way to get it. The only problem being that the longer it went on, the more difficult it became to remind himself that it wasn’t real. There were times, when he’d woken up from particularly bad dreams, that he allowed himself for the barest of moments to wish it were.

Every so often, something would happen to remind him that there was more to it, that Lucius must be planning something. Like on Harry’s second day there, he had woken to the windows being closed and had felt the room closing in on him. He tried to open them, but they didn’t so much as rattle. He’d screamed at the door for what felt like hours, but no one came. Eventually, he’d curled up on the floor in the corner and closed his eyes, trying to remember how to breathe. When Lucius had finally come, Harry had lashed out, yelling and cursing and accusing the man of toying with him. It was the truth, Harry was sure of it, but Lucius had remained calm and eventually stopped the rant by saying, in a very low, dangerous voice, “I have a very short temper, Harry.” 

‘Don’t test it,’ was left hanging silently between them, but Harry heard it none-the-less and as much as he wanted Lucius to stop playing with him, he didn’t want the abuse to start again and he didn’t want to go back to either Greyback or Voldemort.

Lucius was sitting on his bed, eating his soup. Each spoonful was careful and calculated not to spill. Harry found himself envying the control. He’d always been something of a messy eater and having to eat on the bed was making it even more difficult; his tray was spotted with green drops of soup. When they were finished, Lucius had swept his wand over the mess and the trays had disappeared to the kitchen, where some house elf was doubtlessly waiting for it.

Harry twisted his hands in the covers, trying to think of what to say. These were the moments he hated the most. He was full and feeling resentfully grateful and if Lucius had made advances towards him he wasn’t entirely sure he would have bothered fending them off. If he was taken care of, did it really matter? It certainly couldn’t be worse than anything that had already been done to him, but Lucius had yet to make a move to even sit too close to him, let alone touch him inappropriately and that morning was no exception.

“The Ministry are fools.”

Harry looked up, startled. They spoke often and about a great many things - plants, animals, the weather, proper discipline for recalcitrant house elves - but Lucius had never seemed inclined to talk about the outside world. So far, he had kept Harry’s universe centered around this house. “They seem to think that leaflets are the way to teach people how to defend themselves. Utter rubbish. No proper wizard has ever been taught how to do anything through a leaflet.”

Harry didn’t respond, but Lucius went on, either not noticing or not caring. “And Scrimgeour is a blessing to the Dark Lord, I can tell you that. If Fudge were still in office people might have already started arming themselves against the Death Eaters, getting wand happy every time they even suspected someone of Dark Wizardry, but this new Minister of Magic, well, everyone feels so safe with him in office. Old war hero, you know. They’re perfectly content to sit back and let him take charge of things. Oh, and those false arrests. Do you know in the past month there have been five more? They haven’t caught a single Death Eater, but as long as the wizarding public at large seems to think so, they’ll read their Prophet thinking they’re being protected.” 

A month? He knew, logically, that it had to have been over a month since he was taken, but having it confirmed and in such a flippant manner... Harry choked on a sob and fought desperately not to start crying. Lucius looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “Whatever is the matter, Harry? Have I said something?”

‘You know bloody well what you said.’ Is what Harry wanted to say, but he also didn’t want to risk angering Lucius, so he bent his head into his hands and shook in a confusing combination of grief and anger.

He didn’t fight when Lucius put arm around him and pulled him close, though he did note that the hands stayed on his arms and never went lower than his chest. “You’re safe here.”

And wasn’t he? At least for now? Finally giving in to his need for comfort, Harry put his arms around Lucius’ waist and let himself cry into his robes. It might have been false and it might have been a stupid game, it might be over at any moment, replaced by more torture and more rapes, but at least for now he was safe and he was being held and it felt like enough.

 

____________________

 

The rest of that day had been spent in relative silence. Lucius brought by books, nothing like text books, but what appeared to be the wizarding equivalent of a juvenile detective novel. The one Harry was currently reading was called ‘Orwick, the Half-Sized Auror, and the Case of the Biting Toilet.’ It was about a teenage wizard who was home schooled and went around a muggle village solving magical mysteries, while trying to keep his identity as a wizard secret. It wasn’t bad actually, childish, perhaps, but entertaining.

When the sun rose through the windows the next morning, Harry woke to find a pair of trousers and a shirt folded at the end of his bed. He looked at them suspiciously, but eventually decided that the idea of wearing real clothing was too enticing and he pulled them on. The trousers were black and loose on him, the shirt was lose as well and the kind of pale green that made his receding tan look sickly.

Lucius entered the room and Harry turned around, preferring to have his back to the mirror than to the Death Eater. Lucius stopped and surveyed him. “I can’t say that color really suites you all too well, I had thought... but I suppose they’ll do for now.”

The door wasn’t closed and Harry eyed it nervously. Lucius smiled, as friendly and as false as ever, “I thought we would try taking breakfast downstairs this morning. I’ve had the house elves set up a table in the atrium. It’s lovely this time of year.”

Harry couldn’t think of what to say. He imagined that he was biding his time until he could think of a way to escape, but in truth, he just wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he was following Lucius down the hall to apparently have breakfast in an atrium, whatever that was. The walls of the hallway were covered in dark, antique looking wall paper. He touched it and it felt smooth, not wrinkled and crackled like he’d expected. Lucius continued to smile, “My ancestors built this home. It was my great great great Uncle Malak who decorated this wing.” He lowered his voice slightly as they passed a painting of a large, ugly looking witch with a black lip-hair, “He was the first of the Malfoy’s to split the Manor into two wings, one for himself and one for his wife, but she made him put her painting in it so that she could always keep a watch on him. She was an ugly woman, but a brilliant witch. None of us has ever been able to remove the bloody thing.”

Before he knew what he was doing, a laugh escaped. He’d forgotten what it sounded like when he laughed, but the idea of Lucius Malfoy and himself walking amiably down a hall, sharing Malfoy family history was simply too much for him to take in.

The atrium really was lovely. It was a large, circular room filled from top to bottom with plants of all kinds. Some Harry recognized, some he didn’t, but he never doubted that they were all magical and that many were probably very deadly. Breakfast had been set on a table in the very middle and consisted of two eggs over-easy and two slices of toast with butter, and jam in several flavors at the center of the table.

After they had eaten, Lucius simply insisted on showing Harry around the Manor, making sure to point out that of course all doors and windows were warded against his escape, though he said it pleasantly enough, like he was stating a well known fact instead of a warning against attempts. There was a large family dining room, which Lucius used only when Draco and Narcissa were there, a sitting room connected to a large library, a conservatory that was as sunny as the atrium, but with fewer flowers, a parlor that was neither flowery, nor sunny, but seemed somehow homier than the rest of the house.

By the time they made it back to his room, it was time for tea and Harry was exceptionally exhausted, not having spent this much time out of bed since before his capture. It was a wonderful feeling and after a small cup of tea and a biscuit, he lay down and fell into a fitful sleep among the comforters, momentarily finding it easy to forget that he was still a captive.

 

____________________

 

Orwick had just been trapped by the muggle that he thought was responsible for stealing the expensive heirloom vase that held the spirit of a nasty poltergeist when Lucius announced that they were going to take a walk in the atrium. It had become usual, over the past few days, for this sort of thing to happen and Harry had easily fallen into the routine. At night he suffered from nightmares, but when he woke the next morning, Lucius chased them away with breakfast and conversation. It was becoming... pleasant.

It was evening as they strolled through the pathway. The atrium was large and the walkways twisted and turned and there were so many exotic plants that Harry wished he could touch, but knew that he shouldn’t. Malfoy had just finished telling him a story about his great Cousin Varius who accidentally burned himself at the stake when he was twenty when Harry, who was both horrified and amused at the idea, saw that look on his face. It was the same look he’d seen on Voldemort’s face and on Greyback’s.

“I...” He wanted to say that he wasn’t ready, please wait just a little longer, but it wouldn’t help, would it? He should be thankful that he had gotten what he had. Nearly two weeks of reprise from torture.

Lucius shook his head and put a hand out, touching Harry’s jaw with the tips of his fingers. “I’m going to kiss you, Harry.”

Without waiting for a response, he pressed in, touching his lips to Harry’s softly, working them together until Harry opened his mouth instinctively and found a warm tongue against his own, massaging and moving just that much, just enough to make its presence known. A betrayal of thought stole into Harry’s mind, only half finished, but hanging there, ‘If he were going to be gentle about it, then maybe...’

The thought was cut off as Lucius retreated, gazing at Harry’s flushed face with that smile and half-lidded eyes. Harry groaned in frustration, both from having it taken away and from the realization that he wanted it back. “It’s a lie. It’s all a lie.”

Lucius moved his thumb over Harry’s moist lips. “And what if it is, does it really matter?”

Did it?

Harry didn’t have time to think further because Lucius was kissing him again. When he finally pulled back this time, some indeterminable amount of time later, he straightened up and dropped his hand from Harry’s face. “I assume that you know the way back to your room?”

Harry nodded, dazed and Lucius left. Left him standing in the middle of the atrium with his mouth tasting like Lucius and his groin stirring with the unfamiliar tingle of arousal.

 

________________________

 

Harry had expected the kissing to lead to other things very quickly, but it didn’t. Lucius seemed perfectly content to take him on walks around the manor and kiss him, very occasionally with the use of tongue. Harry was deeply confused. It was quite obvious from the tent in Lucius’ trousers that he wanted more, so why didn’t he take it?

To make matters worse, Harry’s own body had betrayed him entirely. It had the nerve to become aroused when Lucius kissed him and sometimes even when they were just in close proximity. Actually, he was having that exact problem while they were walking through the halls to the dining room for diner.

“The Ministry is entirely incompetent. Not that I’m complaining, it makes my position much easier, but it’s embarrassing to the wizarding community at large. Really, they seem to be under the impression that Gregory Gorfell is a Death Eater. I don’t believe you know him, but I’ll assure you that it is more ridiculous than when they arrested Stan Shunpike. This is why I support the Dark Lord, Harry. If the Ministry even had a single brain between them, then we would hardly have been able to raise him, let alone bring him back to full power.”

It was true. Harry could hardly deny that the Ministry was made up of fools being run by even greater fools, but how was the Dark Lord any better than them? He was a murderer.

“When everything is finally over and the country is being run with a firm hand, things will be much better.”

For who? Of course, he knew better than to say it out loud. When Lucius was ranting about the Ministry and the war, Harry tended to keep his mouth shut, listen and observe. Maybe he could learn something that would be of use later. Something that could help him escape. Something that could save lives. Just something.

“Which reminds me, I have an attack to attend.” Harry didn’t realize he had stopped walking until Lucius turned to look at him, still smiling as pleasantly as always. “What’s the matter, Harry? You look awfully pale.”

An attack. Who were they attacking?

“You needn’t worry yourself over me. It’s a very simple affair, really; a recruiting mission.” He walked up to Harry and put a finger under his chin. “A few well placed Cruciatus Curses, perhaps an Imperius and it’ll be over. If we’re lucky, we won’t even have to kill anyone.”

Lucius kissed lightly him and took a step back, “Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes, you’ll have to stay in your room while I’m out. Usually I wouldn’t be...”

“Why are you doing this?”

Lucius raised an eyebrow, nonplussed by the interruption, “Mr. Fairwater has been very uncooperative as of recent. All we want is a little inside information and he seems to think that being noble is going to get him somewhere. Probably a Gryffindor...”

“No. You... you toss around Cruciatus and the Imperius Curse like they were Accio. You torture and kill without blinking an eye, but you won’t... I mean, it’s obvious you want me. I can tell, but you just kiss me and... and why? Why don’t you just take what you want? I can hardly stop you.” _I don’t want to stop you._ But he didn’t say that, because it was admitting too much.

“Take? I am a Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy in point of fact, and I do not have to take what I want, it is offered to me. Now, no more silly questions. If we’re to manage lunch before I leave, I daresay we should start. It’s such a gloomy day out, why don’t we go to parlor and I’ll turn on some music. Something seasonal.”

It was offered to him? Did he expect Harry to offer himself to him? He couldn’t possibly! But there was what he had said that first day _‘I’d rather have you strong and willing’_ and then there was the nagging, unwanted arousal in the pit of his stomach told him he very much could. He told it to shut up and, much to his disappointment, it did.

 

_______________________

 

Voldemort had missed him. Harry sat at the breakfast table in the atrium, listening to the Dark Lord speak with Lucius as if from a great distance.

“He has made progress.”

“Yes, my lord. Though, I fear Fenrir did extensive damage to the boy’s sense of self-preservation.”

“The werewolf has been dealt with. Have you healed so quickly, love?” Harry automatically turned towards the voice and his head throbbed. He nodded, putting his napkin on the table next to his plate. “I see what you mean, Lucius, he has indeed lost a great deal of that spirit that I admired.”

“Give me time, my lord.”

Voldemort’s mouth twitched upward in a smile and Harry fought back a shudder of pain as the fingers brushed against his cheek, “Take all the time you need, Lucius. I do trust you.”

Then he left. Harry hadn’t known what to think of that. He’d expected a great many things when Voldemort walked into the room, proclaiming that he had missed Harry. He’d expected to be fucked, at the least, probably for several hours. He’d expected some kind of torture. He had not expected the Dark Lord to question his recovery progress and then leave.

Lucius smiled at him and raised an elegant eyebrow, “Aren’t you hungry?”

Harry shook his head. “No, I... What does Voldemort want?”

“Now, Harry, that’s for him to know. You’ll just have to trust that I have your best interests in mind.”

“You...” but he couldn’t finish it, because the idea was ludicrous. Lucius had his best interests in mind? Like hell! Being let go was in his best bloody interest, not sitting around a manner waiting for be raped and tortured or worse. He didn’t know what Voldemort was waiting for, didn’t know what he wanted, but he knew, above anything else, that Lucius was loyal to that monster and that whatever they had in store for Harry was not in his best interests.

Dabbing his face with a napkin, Lucius stood up, “Well, I have work to attend to. You can find me in my study if you have need of me.” He paused and then walked to Harry, cupping his face and kissing him full on the mouth, slipping his tongue inside for only a moment before pulling away and patting him on the head.

As Harry watched the blonde aristocrat walking off, something snapped inside him. Without even thinking about it, he grabbed his half empty glass of orange juice and threw it at Lucius, watching in horror and triumph as it shattered on the wall next to his head, splattering him with pulp and shards of glass. Oh, god, what had he done?

Lucius turned around and Harry backed up, tripping over his own feet and gripping the back of his chair to keep himself standing. “I’m sorry, I...” But he didn’t get a chance to finish it. Lucius had grabbed him by his upper arm and started dragging him, through the door, down the hall, two rights, a left, up a set of stairs. They stopped abruptly outside of the door to Harry’s room and Lucius opened it, forcefully shoving Harry inside and around to face him.

He had just enough time to register that Lucius was really angry before the back of Lucius’ closed fist connected with the side of his face, sending him crashing to the floor. He stared at the carpet in shock. He shouldn’t be surprised, Lucius was a Death Eater, he worked for Voldemort, the man who wanted him dead. He should be relieved that Lucius had finally shown his real colors. But he wasn’t. He looked at the intricate weave of the beige strands in front of his nose until the door closed with a loud slam.

His face hurt. It was hot and throbbing and the pain was getting worse as the seconds ticked by. A splat of blood hit the carpet and he stared at it in awe. He hadn’t seen his own blood in weeks now. He’d almost forgotten how red it was. Seconds later he saw something else hit the carpet, something clear. It took him a moment to realize he was crying and once he realized it he couldn’t stop.

After ten minutes, the tears seemed to dry up, much to his relief. The blood had stopped long before that, leaving only a few small red stains on the carpet. His face still hurt and a quick look in the bathroom mirror confirmed that it would make a fantastic bruise, as would the place where Lucius had gripped his arm. Sitting on the bed, he picked up ‘Orwick the Half-Sized Auror,’ trying to ignore that his hands were shaking, and waited.

 

____________________ 

 

Orwick was hunting down a man who had charmed Rubber Ducks to viciously attack people. One muggle had had his entire finger bitten off and a Mediwizard had to put it back on and alter his memory.

It was two days before Lucius came to let him out. Two days of no food and only the water that he drank out of the bathroom sink. He’d had a lot of time to think. He’d thought about his time with Voldemort and about the abuse and the pain and the touching that made him fall apart and crawl away, anything to get away from it. He’d thought about his time with Greyback and about being chained to a bed and passed around to children younger than himself and the terror of knowing that when he wasn’t being raped by someone else, he was being raped by Greyback and tortured and cut and hurt. He’d thought about his friends, probably still back at Godric’s Hollow, trying to find him. 

They had probably searched Malfoy Manor at some point already, when he was first taken, but would they again? He doubted it. For the first time, he really doubted it. How long had it been now since he’d been taken? At least a month, maybe two. If they hadn’t found him yet... What was it that Moody had said? If someone goes missing and you can’t find them the chances that they’re alive decrease after twenty four hours. What were the chances after two months and with the war to fight, that they would really be able to keep searching for him.

Then he’d thought about Lucius. Lucius who had fed him, talked to him, told him stories to cheer him up, gave him books to read, took him on walks, kissed him, but never demanded more, never even demanded that really, because Harry had never tried to pull away or deny him. They weren’t coming for him and if he had to choose between Voldemort, Greyback, and Lucius, he’d take Lucius any day. He’d give Lucius anything. Anything to keep him from getting angry and violent again.

So, when the door finally opened, Harry was so relieved that he dropped the book he was reading and threw himself at the man, grasping him around the waist and burying his head in Lucius’ strong chest, mumbling apologies and begging for forgiveness. There was no hesitation in the tall wizard’s movements. He put a hand on Harry’s chin, tilted his head up and kissed him. It was forgiveness, as easy as that. No tasks demanded of him, no yelled, cursing, no more hitting, just two days and a kiss and he was forgiven.

He moved his arms to wrap them around Lucius’ neck and kissed him back, passionately, willing to give him anything. Anything to keep from being sent back to Greyback or Voldemort, anything to keep the man happy, or whatever passed for happy in the mind of Lucius Malfoy. The older man’s hand rested on his hip for a moment before sliding back and cupping his arse. The thought of giving into that was frightening, but the idea of what would happen if he didn’t was terrifying.

One of Lucius’ fingers moved to lay over his crack and Harry surprised himself by moaning. He surprised himself even more when he realized it wasn’t forced, or even an automatic reaction. If anything he should have flinched, or pulled away at the touch, but there was something about the way Lucius was massaging his mouth with his tongue and the way smelled sharply of sweat and some expensive cologne that made it difficult to do anything other than press himself closer and breathe more deeply.

When they finally separated, it was Lucius who had pulled away and Harry found himself disappointed, despite his best efforts to the contrary. A pale hand brushed the dark bruise on Harry’s cheek and Harry did flinch then, at the memory of having made Lucius angry and the threat of what would happen if he did it again. “You have not eaten.”

“You haven’t given me anything to eat.” Harry could have bitten his tongue off, but Lucius only smiled placatingly and took the smaller man’s hand.

“Well, then, I will have to remedy the situation.” It was as if the previous infringement had never happened. Lucius took him to parlor and ordered sweets before the meal and Harry had eaten them, because he was so desperately hungry and he loved sweets. Afterwards he’d been tired and Lucius had taken him to his room, where he had lay down, fully clothed, and gone immediately to sleep, vowing never to outburst again, because it simply wasn’t worth it.

 

____________________

 

_“You’ll never prove it was me, Orwick Penderworth. I didn’t use my own wand.”_

_“No, you used the wand of a dead man, a Mr. Robert Sheffield. I wonder if the Auror’s will be able to trace his death to you?”_

_“You little...”_

_“Ah, ah, Mr. Corrigan, I left the wand with my friends and if I don’t return in ten minutes, they’ll take it to the Ministry Magic. There was just one thing I wanted to know.”_

“Harry?”

Harry looked up from where he had been reading, curled up on a chair in Lucius’ study. “Hm?”

Lucius looked at him from across the room, one eyebrow raised in question, “I’ve called for you three times already.”

“Oh.” Harry closed the book and set it down, “I’m sorry, it was getting good...”

He stopped, because Lucius had stood up and walked over to him, that hungry look in his eyes again. The kissing had moved on to groping. Lucius liked to touch him, running hands over his arms and back and abdomen. Occasionally, the older wizard would deviate and squeeze Harry’s arse, or brush his fingers against the boy’s cock.

Harry couldn’t hold back his pleased moan as Lucius kissed him now. It was wrong that he enjoyed it, he knew that, somewhere, it just didn’t seem to matter when they were together. A hand stole down and pushed up Harry’s shirt. Warm fingers pressed against his stomach and moved around to his back, pulling him up and onto his feet so that they were standing chest to chest.

When Lucius began to pull away, Harry whimpered and followed the retreating mouth, his lips feeling cold without them. A hand moved to the front of his trousers, cupping his growing erection firmly and Lucius’ voice filled his ear, leaving warm breath in its wake, “You’re so very eager this morning, my Harry.”

His Harry. Lucius’ Harry. Closing his eyes, Harry tried not to think about it, tried not to accept it as the truth that it was becoming. Every day that passed left him fewer and fewer defenses against the man. Every time they kissed, every time Lucius touched him, he was becoming more and more aware that he didn’t just want him.

“Please, Lucius.”

“Please, what?” The hand caressed the bulge and Harry felt his legs going weak. “What do you want from me, Harry?”

The way Lucius said that should be illegal, unforgivable. “I want... I _need_ you.”

“Need me, do you?” He was outright stroking now, moving his fingernails over the fabric covering Harry’s balls while he worked the palm of his hand over the cock. “What, exactly, do you need me for?”

Harry whined, clutching Lucius’ shirt desperately, “Need you to show me.” He hoped that was enough, because even those few words had cost him a great effort. He should have known better. Lucius stopped moving his hand and was simply staring at Harry with one perfectly manicured eyebrow, raised inquisitively. If Harry hadn’t been able to feel the older man’s bulge against his hip, he could have thought they were discussing pottery for all the interest Lucius was showing.

If he said anymore, there would be no denying it. If he went that one, simple step further, there would be no turning back.

Harry thought about his friends, who were probably looking for him, worried about him, wondering what had happened to him. He thought about Dumbledore and how he had died for this cause, the cause of killing Voldemort. He thought off all the Aurors that still worked together under the Order of the Phoenix, trying to do what their fallen leader would have wanted. Harry had been one of them, but what was he now? A captive to Death Eaters, a whore to Voldemort and anyone he chose to give Harry to. The chances of rescue slim and escape was all but impossible. He could keep trying or he could...

Lucius started to pull away from him, sensing the hesitation and Harry opened his eyes, not having realized he’d closed them and looked into the grey depth of Lucius’ eyes. He’d made his decision. “I need you to fuck me.”

 

____________________

 

Lucius had been biding his time for days. Weeks. He had coddled and pampered the little Gryffindor hero and everything was finally coming around. Not that he had expected it would be easy, but he only had so much patience when dealing with children. In fact, when Potter had hesitated in saying what he wanted, Lucius had been very much on the verge of summoning a house elf to kick out of frustration. Then, just as he was beginning to feel that all hope was lost, Potter did something miraculous. He opened that perfect, pouting mouth of his and said six magic words.

“I need you to fuck me.”

He could practically hear the choir of angels singing in his head. Grabbing Potter by the back of the head, he pulled him up into a kiss, devouring the boy’s mouth. It tasted sweet, like the pastries they had eaten with tea. Gods, but the boy could stuff his mouth with no end in site. It was a bloody miracle he hadn’t made himself ill. Thinking about that mouth covered in powdered sugar and flakes of chocolate was an aphrodisiac in and of itself and Lucius felt his already swollen cock twitch in its confines.

Taking his hand from Potter’s erection, he began to undo the loose fitting trousers, just enough to delve his fingers into them and feel the heat of that hard flesh against his palm. The boy’s tongue moved greedily around his mouth, practically begging Lucius to continue. That was what Lucius liked about boys, they were eager for the taking, they wanted it fast and when he drew it out they begged. Men tended to be far more patient and if there was one thing Lucius did not appreciate, it was an even playing field, especially in bed.

Lucius wrapped his fingers around the boy’s erection and stroked it, memorizing the feel of the pulsing veins against his hand and Potter pushed himself forward into the touch. Such an eager child. Pulling away almost entirely, Lucius looked down into Potter’s bright green eyes, clouded with lust, and smiled inwardly. Everything was going as planned, but he’d think about that later, now it was time for him to enjoy the spoils of all his patience.

“I would say that we should take this to a bedroom, but I somehow doubt you would last that long.” He saw the little shudder that ran through the boy and remembered what kinds of things had happened to him in bedrooms. That was very interesting and had the potential to cause problems, but then there were a great many places that one could fuck in Malfoy Manor without stepping foot in a bedroom.

“Sit on the couch, Harry.”

Potter sat quickly, his legs slightly parted and his trousers open, revealing the barest trail of dark pubic hair over the white rim of underwear. With as much grace as he could manage, considering the situation, Lucius sank to his knees between the boy’s legs and forced them wider to accommodate him. Potter groaned and let his head fall back, exposing his pale neck. With a feral grin, Lucius leaned forward, latching into the column and sucking, scraping with just a hint of teeth across the sensitive flesh.

For a moment, Potter tensed, but he relaxed just as quickly, accepting that Lucius didn’t mean to hurt him that way. Although Lucius was very aware of what was going through Potter’s mind, he forced himself to continue. The boy was going to be his, fully and completely. He was going to trust him, if only because he needed him. Memories of some flee-ridden pack of werewolves would not stand in the way of what Lucius wanted. Nothing would.

While Potter enjoyed the attention Lucius was lavishing on his neck, the blonde wizard began unbuttoning his shirt and slipped a hand inside, running his nails over a hard nipple. Potter arched up, panting and Lucius pinched it, twisting the little nub. “Do you like that?”

The boy had the most delicious whimpers, full of need and practically a plea all on their own. “Y... yes.”

Lucius rolled the boy’s nipple between his fingers, pulling slightly before letting it go and moving his mouth down, tonguing the heated skin. Potter’s hands moved from clenching the sofa to gripping the back of Lucius’ arms instead, pulling at the expensive fabric of the shirt. As much as he enjoyed the reactions he was evoking from Potter, he did have a care for his clothing and if this kept up the shirt was going to be stretched out of shape or torn entirely. Leaning away, he quickly shrugged off his cloak and unlaced the top of his shirt, pulling it over his head.

Potter’s eyes widened as Lucius bared his naked torso, the well toned muscles and pale skin shadowed in the dim light of the parlor. The message in that over expressive face was clear, ‘this is real, this is happening.’ Oh, how delightful this was going to be and so much the better that the boy wasn’t a virgin, because Lucius didn’t particularly enjoy taking things slowly.

With a little more fumbling than was strictly necessary, Potter managed to pull his own shirt off, tossing it away. He bit his lip and looked at Lucius with expectant eyes and far be it for Lucius to deny such an eager young specimen. Delving his hand back into Potter’s trousers, he stopped himself short of kissing the boy, instead watching his face closely, watching the expression, the dilation of the pupils and the twitch of the mouth, making sure that his advances were not making the boy unsure. He was only going to have one shot at this, if he failed in his attempt, if the boy didn’t trust him, didn’t lean on him completely, then he would have to give him back and Lucius hated giving back what was his. However, there was nothing like reluctance or regret in the lidded expression on Potter’s face, only open lust and reckless need.

“Lift your hips.” With a twisted grin, the blonde wizard slipped the trousers and underpants over Potter’s bony hips and down his spindly legs. He always was a thin boy, but due to the starvation he had suffered at the hands of Greyback, Potter was even more unnaturally thin than before. Of course, he had gained some in the past weeks and another month would see him back at a healthy weight, but until then Lucius would have to put up with jutting hip bones and knobbly knees.

Potter reached forward, as if to help Lucius take off his trousers, but Lucius knocked the hands away, “Patience, love, we’ll get to that.”

Potter whined, but dropped his hands back to his sides and leaned against the sofa while Lucius continued to explore the young body below him. The bruises and cuts left behind by Greyback had healed, but some thin lined scars were still visible on the boy’s thighs. Not taking his gaze away from Potter’s wide eyes, Lucius lowered his head and licked the small scars, seeing the hard cock before him twitch at the attention.

Lucius tongued the underside of the leaking cock and watched as Potter’s mouth dropped open and a soft, deep moan fell from it. Wrapping his lips around the head, Lucius felt the shudder of satisfaction as much as he heard it in the hiss that Potter emitted as he dropped his head against the back of the sofa. There was something entirely too gratifying about having the ability to reduce his lovers to a puddle with only his mouth.

Of course, gratifying or not, Lucius had no desire to end this before it truly began and he didn’t doubt that Potter was going to come to his end very soon. Then again, Potter was a teenage boy and as such could very well come to his end several times. With that in mind, Lucius took the head of Potter’s cock into the back of his throat. The boy arched half off the seat and his nails tore through the fabric as he came, screaming wordlessly.

Sucking the boy’s seed, Lucius waited till the member began to go limp in his mouth before pulling away. Sucking cock could be such an undignified act, but he could at least make it that much less of a mess by swallowing. Besides, a Malfoy never spat. It was rude. Potter was breathless above him, look down with hero-worship written all over his adolescent features. It was all turning out so perfectly.

“Are you ready to begin, Harry?”

The green eyes became impossibly large, “B... begin?”

Lucius stroked his hand down the tanned cheek, not missing the way the boy’s head tilted into the touch. “That was hardly more than an introduction. Now, be a good boy and lift your feet onto the sofa.”

Harry bit his lip curiously, but did as he was told. Lucius took a moment to glance at the fabric under the boy’s fingers and nearly cringed. It would have to be reupholstered. No matter, perhaps Lucius could find something that suited the room better, something in a blue. Until then, he had a very nervous, young wizard sitting on the ruined couch, looking at him anxiously. There really was no sense in keeping the boy waiting any longer, was there.

He put his hands on Harry’s thighs and pushed them back and open, just enough to make the boy feel more exposed and more open. “You look so absolutely delicious lay out like this.” The boy blushed brightly and Lucius grinned, taking on hand off a thigh to cup Harry’s head as he kissed him. “Hold onto your legs.”

There was a moment’s hesitation and had Lucius been in his right mind, or if he had had sex anytime in the past month, he might have taken a step back and re-evaluated his plan. As it was, he ignored it and instead determined that he would have to speed things up just a bit so as not to give the boy time to rethink anything. A quick summoning charm and a small decorative bowl appeared at Lucius’ side. He opened the lid and sank two of his fingers into the slick substance within. It could have been the best lubrication that money could buy, as it was, it was a gift that Severus had given to him some years ago. The smallest amount of which was enough for the roughest sex and it never dried out. Sadly, there was a little under half of it left. Perhaps Lucius should ask for more some time soon.

To distract the boy from what he was doing, Lucius leaned forward and kissed him just before sliding one finger down his arse and slipping it inside the tight, puckered entrance. Potter started, giving a small, surprised gasp, but quickly relaxed. Lucius didn’t doubt it was more from surprise than anything else. Neither Greyback, nor Voldemort struck him as the kind to take care in preparing a victim for rape, they also did not strike him as the sort to use lubricant beyond their own spit unless it were strictly necessary.

Slowly, Lucius worked his finger in and out, sliding it deeper by centimeters until it was firmly planted to the knuckle inside Potter’s arse. Potter squirmed uncomfortably, but not as if he were in pain, which was a good sign. There had been a chance that Greyback had done permanent damage and that everything up until now would have been a waste. Lucius crooked his finger and move it in and out until Potter’s eyes shot open and his body went rigid in shock, his cock coming to immediate attention. Very good, no damage done there, either.

Lucius ran his finger past Potter’s prostate again and the emerald eyes rolled back into the boy’s head in rapture. He was such a perfect specimen, so eager and so ready. Lucius pushed the second finger in, pulling his mouth away so that he could better hear the whimpering moans. “Oh, god. Oh, god.”

The nails of the boy’s hands were digging half moons into his thighs and Lucius moved one of the small hands out of the way, licking the creased skin while he moved his fingers in and out, finger fucking the saviour of the wizarding world in his parlor. Oh, the thought alone was delicious, but image... well, he would have to preserve this memory in a pensieve to ensure that he never forgot every nuance of the boy’s face or the twist of his body as he writhed in pleasure.

“I’m going to fuck you.”

Harry managed a quick succession of eager nods and Lucius bit back a chuckle as he pulled his fingers free and applied a small amount of the lubricant to both himself and the boy. Positioning himself, he braced the slender legs on his shoulder and his hands on either side of the slim hips so that he could stare at the youthful face as he sank his cock into Potter’s tight arse.

It was incredible. For someone who had been passed around a pack of werewolves like a wayward whore, Potter still managed to be tight and hot. He sucked Lucius into himself, panting and moaning that was becoming his mantra, “Oh, god, oh, god. Fuck! Oh, god.”

By the time his balls rested against the cleft of Potter’s arse, it was all Lucius could do not to come. For someone who had been repeatedly raped over the course of two months, the boy was incredibly responsive to sexual pleasure. “You feel so good, Harry.”

Delightful whimpers, “oh, god,” and that arse clenching and unclenching around him in an attempt to relax was the only response he received. Not that he needed anything more. With deliberate care, Lucius pulled out several inches and sank back in. Then, to his surprised, Potter grabbed him by his shoulders and yanked him forward into a heated kiss. The thrust of his tongue into Lucius’ mouth was almost violent. Potter pulled back just as quickly as he had lunged forward. His cheeks were bright pink, his eyes glazed, but focused, “Do it.”

As much as Lucius wanted to insist that Potter say exactly what it was he wanted Lucius to do, he was far too gone himself and it was all he could do to concentrate on fucking the boy at an angle and pace that would be pleasurable for them both. He took the time necessary to once again be thankful the boy was no virgin because he started to thrust. Potter’s eyes half closed, his throat emitting sounds that could be mistaken for nothing other than pleasure. Taking it as encouragement, Lucius picked up his speed and pushed deeper on the down thrust, enjoying the tight ring of muscle contracting around his cock at odd intervals as Potter tensed with each brush against his prostate and tried to relax again.

Pounding into the lithe form bellow him, Lucius felt like a randy teenager again and he knew it wasn’t going to be long before he came. Precariously, he balanced himself on one hand and used to other to stroke Potter, reveling in fact that he came almost immediately, clamping down on the organ still moving inside of him and crying out loudly, practically sobbing with pleasure. It was that sound that was Lucius’ undoing and he spilled his seed inside the boy, imagining that he was claiming him for all time. Perhaps he was.

 

____________________

 

Potter was sitting in one of the stiff chairs in Lucius’ study, his perfect little nose buried in a book. Lucius looked closely at the embossed tightly on the front, ‘Orwick the Half-Sized Auror and the Case of the Singing Tea Cosy.’ Was he still on that childish tripe? There were bound to be better things to read than that. Why, Lucius’ personal library held the biographies of some of the greatest wizards of all times.

He frowned as he watched the boy’s eyes move over the pages, seemingly entranced by what he was reading. “Harry.”

Potter kept reading. 

“Harry!” 

He looked up this time, startled, “I’m sorry, what?”

Lucius sighed, “You should be reading something more intellectually stimulating that Orwick the Half-Sized Auror. That was written for eight-year-olds, you know.”

Potter frowned and glanced back at the page again before casting a pleading glance at Lucius, “But I like it. It’s funny and it’s... not complicated.” He didn’t have to vocalize it, but Lucius knew what Potter was trying to say. A lot of things had gotten complicated for him recently. Perhaps Greyback had done more damage to the boy’s psyche that Lucius first surmised.

“Oh, very well. I suppose you’ll run out eventually and perhaps then I can force something a little more cultured on you.” Potter grinned at him mischievously and put the book down, bending down the corner of the page he was reading. Draco would have a fit if he ever opened those again and noticed that.

With grace that Lucius would have thought impossible for someone his age, Potter stood from the chair and over to him, sitting on the floor at his feet. “What are you planning to do for today?”

“The same thing I do every day, Potter.”

“Try to take over the world?” The boy giggled inanely at Lucius’ arched eyebrow. “It’s from a muggle cartoon, Pinky and the Brain. Dudley used to watch it all the time and at the beginning of every show Pinky would ask, ‘what are we doing tonight, Brain?’ and Brain would say...” he stopped, his expression falling in the face of Lucius stern glare, “you don’t really give a flying sod, do you?”

Lucius harrumphed and turned back to his papers, “If sod were flying around, I would most certainly give a care. At the very least I’d have to avoid it to keep from soiling my robes. However, I do not care for being compared to muggle children’s programming.”

Harry frowned and picked at his toe nails. He rarely wore shoes around the house anymore, a sign that could be taken as him having given up the hope of escape, or it could simply mean he’d gone that much more barmy, but with Potter it was very hard to tell. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Lucius put a hand on the boy’s head and watched the frown melt into a content smile. The plan was working perfectly, even better than he and Voldemort had hoped. When they had captured Potter, Voldemort had tried many ways to kill him. He’d held his hand over the boy’s scar for long periods of time, but it became apparent that the only thing that was going to accomplish was driving the child mad. He’d tried to curse him, but they always backlashed in one form or another. He’d even tried very muggle methods, such as strangulation, but the closer Potter came to death, the weaker Voldemort felt and eventually he had given up. Until he knew what connected him to Potter and how it worked, he wasn’t going to risk killing the child, because certainly this was more than a mere mother’s love protecting him now.

They had researched it, Voldemort taking the time to enjoy the boy and finding that there was much to enjoy with his physical form back and a young, physically appealing enemy at his mercy. When they could find no answer, Voldemort had asked Lucius if he thought he could turn Potter, if he could make him do Voldemort’s bidding. He could. He had done it before, although granted he’d never tried it with someone as stubborn and foolhardy as Potter, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t enjoy the challenge.

So, they had devised a plan. Send the boy to someone who had the time and energy to truly abuse and torture him. Greyback had been risky, but the Lestranges had been the only other option and Bellatrix probably would have killed the boy and claimed it was an accident. However, Greyback was an animal, albeit a werewolf, and he was also very good at following instruction, especially when those instructions allowed him nearly free reign over the torture of a powerful wizard.

After his month long stay in Voldemort’s care, Potter had already been worn thin, but he still had spirit and that was what Lucius wanted to see broken. With that out of the way, Potter would be like putty in his hands. So they left him with the werewolf for a while, three weeks and when Lucius came to get him it was very obvious that there was little left of the boy that resembled his former self.

From there it was a simple matter of making the boy rely on him for everything. First food and water, then entertainment, then companionship, and finally his praise. Potter didn’t leave Lucius’ side, he cowed when it appeared the man was upset, and beamed when he thought he had done something good.

In the last week since they had begun to have a physical relationship, the change in the boy had been monumental. He had gone from sulking around the various corners of his rooms to following Lucius around like a shadow at his side. Potter’s laughter and raised voice could be heard ringing through the manor as he listened to jokes and asked questions about portraits and oddly decorated rooms.

For all of that, Lucius was concerned. The change had been so sudden that he couldn’t help but wonder if it was due emotional trauma. Not that it mattered. As long as he got the results he wanted, the Dark Lord would hardly care how sane Potter was, but still...

Potter sighed and leaned his head on Lucius’ thigh, playfully licking it before standing up and returning to curl up on the chair with his book. It would be interesting to see if things progressed the way Lucius hoped they would, because if not, the results could be disastrous.

 

____________________

“But, Lucius, I don’t want to be a Death Eater.” Potter was standing in the middle of his room, wearing long black robes, holding a mask in his hands that was identical to the one Lucius wore.

“As I explained this morning, Harry, you have a choice. You can either choose to do as I say or you can choose to go back to being passed around to Dark Lords and werewolves.”

Potter pouted, a very childish response to a very serious threat. In the past month, the boy had shown clear signs that he was damaged beyond repair, at least mentally. At some point during his stay with Lucius, Potter had retreated into childhood. It was an act that allowed him to escape the seriousness of the situation, but however damaged he may be, the boy still possessed the power and knowledge that he had before. He would still be an asset, simply a temperamental one and it was Lucius’ job to keep him from acting out.

“I don’t want to do either. I want to stay here.” Lucius saw the pout turn to a seductive grin and knew what was coming next before his pretty little mouth even opened, “I want to stay and warm your bed.”

Of course, there were some parts of the boy that were indelibly older than the age he acted, such as the seduction that he used to get what he wanted. If the boy was in the mood to eat desert before meals, he offered to eat them off of Lucius’ lap. If the boy wanted to go to bed and Lucius was still working, he offered to go there naked. It was childish in its own way and disturbing in others.

“You’ll warm my bed later. For now, we are going to see Voldemort and you are going to behave or I will be _very_ displeased with you.”

Potter sighed dramatically and went back to pouting, but he didn’t attempt to dissuade Lucius further and instead held onto him tightly as he apparated to Voldemort’s lair. Potter stumbled a little on rematerialising, one might have thought he had never apparated before, but perhaps it was that slide-along apparition was more disorienting since you were unaware of where you were going until you got there.

There were few people there, far fewer than Lucius would have expected. Fenrir Greyback, Severus Snape, the Lestranges, and another man that Lucius did not recognize were standing around the room, glaring at each other as they waited for Lucius to arrive with their newest recruit. Potter tensed beside him as his eyes fell from one Death Eater to the next. Voldemort was sitting on his chair at the front of the room, but had said nothing at their appearance.

Bellatrix glanced around and stopped in mid conversation with her husband. Rudolphus followed her gaze and soon all attention was on Potter. Bella was the first to step forward. She ran a hand through the boy’s mussed up hair, tightening the stroke to a grip when he tried to pull away. “Such a pretty little boy now that you’re all dressed up.”

Lucius heard the boy literally growl. Putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder, he looked sternly down at his young charge, “Don’t be rude, Harry. Bella is family after all.” Bellatrix grinned, but let go of Potter’s hair and stepped back to her place in the lose circle.

The blasted woman backing up did nothing to calm Potter’s tension, but he did stop growling, which was a vast improvement. Voldemort chuckled, “I see that Lucius has finally succeeded in reining our wayward Mr. Potter. How are you this evening, Harry, anxious?”

Harry looked at Lucius again before turning back to Voldemort and giving a half bow, “N... I’m nervous, my lord.”

“So polite. Malfoy, my dear friend, you do work wonders.” The other Death Eaters around the room bristled at the compliment, all save Severus, who appeared too busy watching the scene unfold to care about what was being said. “Harry, you will look at me.”

Potter’s gaze immediately fell on Voldemort, his brow drawn together in a show of pain, but never wavering, nonetheless. “Do you come willingly?”

Potter looked back at Lucius who nodded, arranging his face in a parental look of pleasure that made the boy smile slightly before turning back. Whatever would please Lucius would please the boy, that was what they had wanted. “Yes.”

“Do you know what it means to be a Death Eater, Harry?”

Potter bit his lip thoughtfully, “It means that I do your bidding.”

The Dark Lord lunged forward, putting his noseless face mere inches from the boy’s. To his credit, Potter did no more than squint in as show of pain that this closeness caused. “It means that you will kill for me. Are you prepared to kill?”

When Potter did not immediately speak up, Lucius was afraid that he had misjudged the situation and that Potter was not yet ready, but then the boy straightened himself, his posture becoming sure. “Yes.” He looked back at Lucius, his pride in himself clear from the smile on his face. Thank gods the boy was such an exuberant lover or the strain of having to deal with him might have been too much for even Lucius to bear.

“Then show me.”

With a wave of his hand, Bella left the room and returned dragging something behind her. It was a young girl with brilliant red hair and pale, freckled features; unmistakably a Weasley. She was hunched over to cover her half-nudity, but when she saw Potter, her pale eyes lit up. “Harry!” Then she faltered as her gaze fell on the mask he was holding. “Harry?”

Lucius put his hand on Potter’s shoulder and leaned forward. His part in this was to reassure the boy, to make him do what Voldemort wanted through manipulation. Seeing their savior fighting against them would be a great blow to the Order of the Phoenix and to see him doing it with a smile on his face and Lucius Malfoy at his side would be an even greater triumph for Voldemort.

Potter looked back at Lucius and the older man smiled, saying, “I am so very proud of you, Harry,” before handing the boy a wand. It wasn’t a real one, of course, this was a test. Potter would say the killing curse and a green light would fire, but it wouldn’t kill anyone. If he passed, Bellatrix would dispose of the girl and Potter would be branded, his own wand returned to him.

The girl stood where she had been thrust in the center of the room, looking at Potter in confusion as the boy eyed the wand, most likely considering his options. “H... Harry?”

Lucius squeezed the boy’s shoulder and it was as if he had pulled the trigger on a muggle weapon. Potter lifted the wand and the sound of his voice shouting the killing curse bounced off the walls as light shot from the wand and passed through the shocked girl harmlessly. There was no sound in the room for several seconds after. In truth, Lucius was surprised that Potter had done it. He had expected the boy to turn the wand on Voldemort, or on Greyback, but instead he had passed the test, firing the killing curse at an innocent girl who thought he was her friend.

Bellatrix fired the real curse as soon as she had recovered herself and the Weasley girl’s dead body hit the floor heavily. Potter still didn’t move and Lucius began to feel apprehensive again. Had he pushed too far? Had the boy broken entirely? Before he could truly question himself, Potter looked at him with wide, expectant eyes and a worried frown on his lips. “It didn’t kill her. Did I do it right?”

Voldemort laughed and Potter whipped his head around to look at the man standing next to him. “You did fine, Harry. You passed the test. Hold out your arm.”

Potter looked back at Lucius, who nodded, and then extended his arm, pushing his sleeve back hastily. Voldemort pressed his wand to the sensitive skin of the forearm and casting the curse that would brand the boy as his. Receiving the Dark Mark hurt a great deal. Lucius had screamed, a young Severus had actually cried, but Potter did neither. He bit of a cry of surprise and then dug his teeth into his lip, riding out the pain as dark magic ingrained itself into him.

When it was done, Voldemort took out the wand that was so similar to his own and placed it in the boy’s hand before taking his chin between his fingers and kissed him chastely on the lips, “Once a Death Eater, my beloved Harry, always a Death Eater. Never forget that.”

Lucius couldn’t see Potter’s face, but he understood the tone of Potter’s voice. “Never. And, my lord?” Voldemort raised one hairless eyebrow and if Lucius had been looking, he might have seen the smirk on Potter’s lips, “Never forget that you killed my parents. Avada Kedavra!”

Bellatrix’ outraged scream was cut off as Potter aimed the curse at her next and Greyback fell before he could take a step forward. Lucius had backed away from the boy, shock holding him in place. Rudolphus, ever the clever man, grabbed his wife’s body and apparated. The boy trained his wand on the stranger, then hesitated and moved it to Severus, who stared back with even eyes. Lucius had never considered his friend to be a stupid man, but to not move when a homicidal Harry Potter pointed a wand at you, was very, very stupid. Then again, Lucius himself had yet to apparate out of the chamber, so perhaps he shouldn’t be pointing fingers.

Severus stood motionless against the wall, “Are you going to kill me, Potter?”

Potter’s eye twitched, “I should. You killed him.”

Severus flinched, something that Lucius could say he had never seen his friend do. “He ordered me to.”

“I know.” At Severus’ confused expression, Potter smiled sadly, “Voldemort has a very large mouth when he thinks he has nothing left to lose. He told me about the unbreakable vow. He told me about his orders to Draco. It didn’t take long to figure it out. I should still kill you.”

Severus nodded, “As you should.”

Potter paused for only a moment longer before turning his wand on the stranger and cast the killing curse a fourth time, watching with satisfaction as the body fell to the ground. He turned back to Severus, his wand at his side. “Go.”

Lucius wasn’t sure why he hadn’t done the same the moment the killing had started. He could only assume that it was shock, something else a Malfoy should never suffer from. Potter did not turn to him, but stared at the spot where Severus had disappeared from, his back to Lucius. “I’m very tired, Lucius.”

It was hard not to start at the sound of that voice, so young and drained from having killed so many in such a short period of time. Even Voldemort would have been winded by the task. Lucius stepped forward and tentatively put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. He needed to know if the boy leaned on him. With Voldemort gone, the ministry would immediately start rounding up Death Eaters and it was not going to be easy to get out of it this time. Having Potter at his side, however, would make it better. “Perhaps we should return to the Manor, then, and you can have a nap.”

Potter laughed, as full as he had the day before, running through the halls after Lucius, “And we could pretend nothing happened.”

The boy turned around and Lucius saw such determination in those green depths that it very nearly frightened him. “Precisely.”

Lucius felt something press into his chest and looked down to see the tip of Potter’s wand pressed against it. “I won’t let them take you, but I can’t ignore what you are.” 

“You could allow me to leave.”

Potter shook his head and leaned up, kissing Lucius’ slack lips softly and smiling at him again. “I’m sorry.” Lucius couldn’t even say he heard the killing curse, but he saw Potter’s lips move. Not that it matter, because he was dead.


End file.
